


Mercury in Retrograde

by aecusfalcon



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, M/M, Osiris-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aecusfalcon/pseuds/aecusfalcon
Summary: A collection of Osiris-centric drabbles I've written and have no where to put.
Relationships: Osiris & Sagira | Osiris's Ghost (Destiny), Osiris & Saint-14 (Destiny), Osiris & The Speaker, Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. solitary in grief

Osiris stands, solitary in his grief. The Speaker’s quarters have not been opened in years since the Red War. A sense of honoring the fallen, perhaps. Making a mausoleum of this room is not what the Speaker would have wanted, he thinks.

Osiris stands, ignoring his grief. Fresh wounds and old wounds colliding all at once in this place of phantoms. The long conversations, the loud arguments, the laughter, the weeping.

Gloved fingers trail over a wooden desk, dust lifting, marks left in his finger’s wake. The untouched no longer left untouched. They stop at papers, old and worn and uncared, left behind on the table beside the Speaker’s bed. He lifts them and skims over them. Personal notes, dreams called visions written down, unsent letters. He stops flipping through them when his eyes fall upon his own name, written with a careful hand. He hesitates momentarily. 

He came here to find out more about the light, secrets not hidden behind a mask or jargon or sermons. He did not come here for sentimentality’s sake. 

He folds the letter and stuffs it into his robes, perhaps he will read it later.

He sits on the edge of the bed, dust particles visible to the naked eye as light streams in from the door. He hangs his head.

It’s strange how easy it is to fall to old habits. Habits he didn’t even know he had, not when he’s been gone for so long. When time moves so differently in the Infinite Forest it’s easy to lose all sense of what’s happening outside. Shifting realities, oceans of data, he saw so much of it, he has witnessed so much. And yet, despite all that, he still seeks counsel because he could not even begin to dream of losing all that he has lost.

He should not  _ want _ words of assurance from the Speaker.

He never listened in his last few days before exile.

No one did.

Perhaps he feels lost, now.

_ Then _ , he was confident, sure that what he was doing was correct. Now, he feels like a new light all over again. Now he feels like he just arrived in the City, seeking the answers he can never get.

Now that Sagira’s gone… he’s never felt more alone, never more lost.

“I just want guidance,” he mutters.

There is no response. 

There never has been.

Not from the Traveler. Not from the Speaker. Not even from the Infinite Forest with its infinite realities.

Being a Guardian- he has no memories of mothers or fathers or sisters or brothers, and certainly none of a childhood. He wonders, not for the first time, if this is what it was like as a child. Wailing because he is helpless, hopeless, hapless. Crying out in need of guidance, a nurturing hand. He will never have that nurturing hand, will never allow himself to have it again.

He was born a weapon who has known the touch of violence upon his first few breaths. Were he to be handed something gentle and fragile and told to care for it he’s not sure how he would. (Perhaps this is why he cannot stand Saint’s kind touch now. Perhaps this is why he cannot allow himself to be comforted in the face of insurmountable grief. Perhaps it is because when he has faced grief before he  _ had _ to face it with a hardened heart and a fiery gaze. Six Fronts. Twilight Gap. Saint. Saint. Saint.)

Osiris cannot sit with his grief, he cannot look his grief in the eye, because that would be accepting it. That would be allowing Sagira to die. Again again again. Every single day.  


He wants to trash the room, upturn it looking for what he needs, to allow his fear to grip him by the throat. He wants to clean the room with meticulous hands, allow his mind to slow down if only for a fraction of a moment.

It was a ritual of control.

Of which he has none. 

He is so tired.

Saint finds him later, asleep on the floor. His knees are drawn up to his chest and his back is pushed up against the cot. Even in his sleep his muscles are wound up like a spring, prepared for action. His face is worn, eyebrows knit together, he looks like he’s in pain.

If Saint could cry for him, he would.


	2. title

Somewhere along the way Osiris fell in love. 

He knows himself better than anyone so that’s how he knows what this is. The way his stomach turns and his sorrow and regret wells up inside is not reminiscent of a brotherly bond. There was always a lack of a word to describe how close he and Saint were, so when Saint settled on “brother” he let it stay there. Even if it never was quite right.

But he can’t tell Saint this.

Not when he sits before the dead body of his dearest friend. 

He knows it’s irrational but he’s glad he has his face covered to hide the grief that lines his face. He’s glad Saint can’t see him like this.

He feels himself splitting, his echoes departing from him as they start discussing how they can fix this. How they can bring him back, and then they converge back into him in a blink.

Sagira looks up from staring at the ribbons weaving their way around Saint's form. “Osiris… I know that look. You need to take a day to yourself before you do anything rash. I know how much he meant to you…”

“This is on me,” Osiris says, rubbing at his eyes with one hand, a tension headache starting to form. “I knew he was in the forest, I let him come in. Because I didn’t want to face him I let him get lost. He’s dead now.”

“You couldn’t have known that the Vex would make something to drain his light.”

“Yes I could have,” he snaps, “I  _ should _ have! I  _ have _ to fix this Sagira. He deserves more than to die in this damned machine forest because of my mistakes.”

Osiris takes one last look at Saint’s body. He grabs one of the purple accolades hanging from his body and pulls it free, wrapping it around his hand. 

Someday he will ask him about it. He will get the chance to ask him. 

He has to.

**Author's Note:**

> osiris is such a complex and compelling character to me and there's just A Lot about him that gives me Many Thoughts


End file.
